Toy Maker
by BradenIsMyMonkey
Summary: Bofur didn't start out as a toy maker, making toys for all the children. No. He started out as a mine worker making toys for his unborn child.


Inspired by this post I found on Tumblr: post/40056564719/this-idea-it-made-me-extremely-sad-and-happy-at

I read the head cannon and saw the picture and I got feels that I needed to type. I know I am not the best writer, but I tried. Constructive criticism is always loved. :3

xxx

Bofur was a simple dwarf. He worked in the mines during the day and at night he carved toys from wood or chiseled them from stone. He wasn't the best at making toys, most of his earlier work had been too embarrassing to be presented, but he practiced every night and eventually his little wooden horses actually looked like horses. Soon enough he had an entire room in his home dedicated to all the toys he created. The toys ranged from all kinds of animals, dwarves of legend and ugly orcs and goblins. There were also roaring dragons and ferocious wargs of all different sizes. Nobody played with the toys, though, because the one they were meant for wasn't born yet. But every night, sometime in the middle of his newest creation, Bofurs beloved would enter his little work room. She would sit next to her lovely husband and smile and laugh as he would lean in close to her stomach and tell their child about all the toys that would be all theirs.

But the happiness and the smiles didn't last.

There were complications that were unavoidable during childbirth, and after hours of screaming and crying Bofur held a small bundle in his arms as he looked down to his beloved who lay seemingly asleep on the bed. Bofur looked down at the child in his arms, a glorious baby boy who had his nose and puffs of hair on his little head, and fell to his knees when they finally buckled underneath him. Closing his eyes, he cried as he clutched the bundle closer to himself and started to rock back and forth. He slowly reached out and took his loves hand in his own as he continued to sob and pray to whatever god that would hear, begging them to please bring them back to him.

No god listened to his prayers, and Bofur could only mourn as he watched his two beloved treasures being buried underneath the earth. His only family left, Bombur and Bifur, did all they could to try and cheer him up but they didn't know the feeling of loosing something so dear and precious and they both feared they would never see their kins smile ever again. For the longest time Bofur refused to enter his little toy room. He couldn't bear seeing the shelf's and chests filled with his hand crafted toys, toys that he made for his son.

He promised himself he wouldn't make another toy ever again.

When he finally did enter the room, some weeks after the death of his child and wife, he had a good amount of ale in him. He stumbled around the room screaming and crying, blaming the gods but mainly himself for their deaths. Picking up toys and throwing them away, but never hard enough for them to break, he continued his break down until fatigue plagued him and he collapsed in the middle of the room surrounded by the toys meant for his child. It was too much for him, and when Bombur found him the next day packing all the toys in bags and boxes he didn't say a word and simply helped his brother until there were no toys left out in the open.

Months passed but Bofurs heart was still heavy with pain. He had started laughing and being his merry self again around others for he didn't want them to worry, but whenever he smiled it never truly reached his eyes.

After a full year had passed, the local mens town was having the seasonal market fair, everyone getting ready to sell their own ware. And there was Bofur setting up his own little stall with the help of Bombur and Bifur, the mines left behind for the day for the festivities. Among the copious stalls full of sweet smelling treats and bright, gleaming armor or jewelry, was Bofur with his stall full of handcrafted toys. He hadn't created a single new toy since the deaths as he had promised himself but he no longer wanted the ones he had in his house any longer. Even hidden, just knowing the toys were there caused his chest to clench and eyes to water.

In no time at all, the market place had become full of all different kinds of shoppers, young and old, men and dwarf. Bofur watched from behind his stall as people passed by his stall with no more than a passing glance or two. It wasn't until about mid afternoon did he get his first potential costumer. A human boy, no older than six or seven, had run up to the stall with eyes wide in wonderment. Bofur watched as the child picked up one of the wooden horses, painted black, as if it was the most precious thing in the world. Then, just as quickly as he had come the little child put down the horse and ran off. Within a minute the child was back dragging along an older woman who Bofur suspected to be his mother. The little boy spoke quietly and quickly to his mother while picking up and putting down any and every toy he could get his hands on.

Bofur felt a tingling in his chest as he watched the two of them. He watched the woman's face, which was full of happiness and love as she listened to her son gush over each of the toys. The little boy eventually settled on one toy, the black horse he had first picked up, and held it to his chest like it was the most precious thing in the world while his mother passed over the coins to Bofur. As the two of them walked off towards other stalls after thanking him, Bofur looked down at the toys lined up neatly on the tabletop. His heart fluttered in his chest momentarily and he felt something deep down that he hadn't felt in a very long time.

After that, more and more children found their way over to his little stall. Each one dragging along a mother, or a father, or even another sibling. All of them looked upon the toys with such joy and awe that Bofur couldn't find it in him to deny any of them one of his toys just because they didn't have enough to pay. He took whatever they had to offer and gave them the best he could give. Their smiles meant more to him then any money they had to give.

When the day was over and the stall packed up and put away, Bofur took the remaining toys back to the room they belonged in. That night, Bofur stayed in his little workshop admiring the toys that had not been sold at the market. He smiled as he recalled his nights staying up late to carve the toys even though his muscles ached from the hours he spent in the mines. His smile grew as he remembered all the times his beloved would join him, sitting on a comfortable chair next to his work station and how he would sing to her and their unborn child while he worked.

Seeing all those children playing with his toys, the toys that were supposed to make his own child happy, stirred something deep down. It wasn't the same, and Bofur knew it never would be, but seeing their smiles and happiness made him happy. It made him smile, a real smile. And for awhile, he forgot about the pain in his heart that had plagued him for the longest time. That alone gave him the courage he needed to pick up a block of wood and carving knife again.

Over the years, Bofur continued creating toys to sell at the market for children to buy. Each child that left his stall with one of his toys helped piece together his broken heart, the happiness from the children making it grow stronger and stronger. Bofur smiled from his seat as he continued to work on the current wood carving he was working on. In front of the stall were two familiar dwarflings reenacting some made up battle using different dwarf figurines and one of the large red dragons. Bofur laughed out loud each time they added their own sound effects or dialogue that they thought would befit a warrior in battle.

When the dwarflings said their goodbyes and ran off to their uncle with toys held tight in little arms Bofur still smiled on. He was happy, and if that happiness came from making sure other children were happy then that was okay.

He never planned on being a toy maker, but he was happy to take the role.


End file.
